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<title>They Wait at the Menagerie by Ochrecerulean</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22419808">They Wait at the Menagerie</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ochrecerulean/pseuds/Ochrecerulean'>Ochrecerulean</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Injury</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 16:48:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>539</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22419808</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ochrecerulean/pseuds/Ochrecerulean</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Caduceus finds his family and the stones: bad ending</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>They Wait at the Menagerie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>    The cave was exactly as in the vision, spiraling veins of gold. Except there were splashes of red along the walls, faded and old. Caduceus felt his heart drop. The nein were tense, with weapons drawn. Here he'd find his family. Where he belonged.<br/>
Lost, found, lost again. Once again struck, so afraid, even the wildmother bore his distrust, afraid of destiny's jaws tearing at his tender heart.<br/>
Instead, instead, there is blood and rot. Decay on the breeze, icey on his neck, rustling his hair. Fjord steps forward. His hands are shaking. Star raiser trembles, and Caduceus feels cold. Forsaken. He wants to speak, but he doesn't dare. His voice would break and scratch, or simply not come at all.<br/>
Before Beau can speak, or Caleb even, he begins walking, to the fate he believes in. His mouth is dry, his pulse is fast. Ahead of him, Nott hurries past.<br/>
She is quick and quiet, mostly sober too. As she scouts, as she must do, he looks forward, in. Past the gathered shadows, where the light is thin. And as he walks, quietly, his friends behind, letting him lead, he sees, he sees, he sees.<br/>
Its 60 feet. 50 now.  A massive cavern, an oasis underground, with verdant plants, tipped with purple, and sunlight streaming through the ceiling. And bones. And bodies. And blood.<br/>
There are smears, long and ragged, and nail marks, shallow and jagged. One had a broken nail, index finger, left side. It made it far, almost out, before being dragged back inside. Caduceus steps forward. His heart quakes, and a fox scurries past, rusty red around the snout. He steps forward. To whatever fate his family befell.<br/>
There is so much blood. So many bones. A dozen orcs, was this their home? Tiefling, dwarf, elf and gnome. Piles of decay, mostly eaten, or destroyed, pulverized, beaten. Some he could not tell, just crimson pools, and fleshy lumps, with mostly white bone jutting out. Ragged muscle, entrails, scattered all about. Bile rose in Caduceus's throat. Where it wasnt bloody, the armor, bodies, bloomed. Fungus, narrow spores, sickly purple gills. One skull looked familiar, hard to tell with a mushroom growing out its eye.<br/>
Nott was back at his side, whispering urgently, but Caduceus numbly stepped forward. The caverns met the tunnel smoothly, jutting into the room. The floor was soft now, sticky dirt, and roses, daisies, larkspur, blooming tight, choking down the grasses.<br/>
And in its center, beyond the broken masses, is a twisted horrid shape. The Wildmother does not speak its name, does not extend her hands. Is that a firbolg slumped in the far corner?<br/>
He stops in his tracks. Revulsion curls in his stomach, as he must look closer, ignoring the twitching wreck. He staggers towards the body, still unable to tell. He is deaf to his friends, shouting, raising weapons, as the Thing shudders, flexes. Too many joints, hands, and arms, always moving in and out of view.<br/>
The Limbs of the Hero bore no mouth, and could not cry, had no thoughts to detect. Roaring contagion, spreading out, a blight familiarly threatening. And Caduceus stared, staff loose in his hands.<br/>
Why had he come here? He should have stayed away.</p>
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